


King of the Crossroads

by gh0stly



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demon Shane Madej, Local demon has some feelings, M/M, Oneshot, drunk ryan, shyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gh0stly/pseuds/gh0stly
Summary: Ryan comes to sell his soul, and makes a friend while he's at it.





	King of the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> A very small silly drabble born from procrastination on some bigger fic projects and mountains of college work. Hope ya like dialogue, because I sure do.

The moon bathed the desert in a deep cold light, and the demon lay in the middle of his crossroad, gazing up at the stars.

 

Absently, he hummed the first few bars of a half forgotten song, and outstretched his arm, watching how his hand blocked the stars like a solid shadow. Even if he was stuck here for the foreseeable future, he could probably never tire of the stars.

 

His name was Shane Madej, and he was the newly appointed king of the crossroads.

 

He didn't _hate_ the job, he just wasn’t given much of a choice to sign up. He’d been human once, and gotten in to a bit of a tight spot. The demon in charge of the crossroads had offered him a choice: man the crossroads on his behalf, or die. That must have been a few weeks ago now- he’d lost count, and he hadn’t seen the demon since.

 

Well, maybe this job was a bit boring, but it was better than being dead. He supposed. But he wished he at least had a pack of cards or something. Maybe when the next person came to sell their soul he would ask them to throw in a pack of playing cards, or a book, or anything. Was that asking too much? Was that against his code of ethics? Did demons even _have_ a code of ethics? It didn't sound right, but he wasn’t exactly given a rulebook. He was essentially given a swift pat on the back and a ‘ _you take it from here, man.’_

 

It was far past midnight when someone, _finally_ , came to his crossroad. Shane watched with amusement as a dark-haired man approached. It was clear he had been drinking from the way he stumbled and swayed, and yet made his way towards him with a grim look of determination. He probably needed the confidence boost that only alcohol could give you. Selling your soul wasn’t an easy decision to make, Shane knew. If things were different, he probably wouldn’t be standing here now.

 

The man came to an abrupt halt, just before the invisible threshold, and made an effort to pull off his shoes. He looked about him, stood up, and stepped barefoot in to the center. Shane sat cross legged in the middle, unseen by the man, and watched quietly as he began to pace around, kicking up sand with the heels of his feet.

 

“I’m here,” the man said, quietly at first, then cleared his throat and repeated himself, sounding a whole lot braver than he looked, “ _I’m here_!”

 

Shane stood to his feet, looking over the man with  growing interest as he paced in circles around him. He waved a hand in front of his eyes. Yeah, the man couldn’t see him. Strange how after all this time this little power could still unnerve him. Well, it _had_ only been a few weeks.

 

“I’ve come to…” his voice caught in his throat. He took a weary breath, held it, then let it go

 

“I’m desperate.” he said finally, rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb, “I’m _desperate._ I’ve come to sell my soul. Please, if you’re here, if _anybody_ is here, I just want to talk.”

 

Shane decided he’d waited long enough. He made himself known.

 

He didn’t really know how he did it, but the moment he knew he would show himself, the sand shifted under his foot when before he had no weight, no body, no anything. The man swung around, startled, the drink almost tipping him over.

  
“I’m the King of the Crossroads,” Shane said, with an easy grin and a broad sweep of his arms, “What can I do ya for?”

 

“Oh, my god…” The man breathed, “You’re _real._ ”

 

“Real as can be.”

 

“You’re not… quite how people say,” The man said slowly, looking him up and down, “I thought you’d have red skin, and a tail, and all that.”

 

Shane paused, surprised, “I’m not the Devil.”

 

“You’re not?” the man frowned.

 

“Don’t sound so disappointed, little man. I’m more like, uh… his delivery guy. People come to sell their souls, and I make sure he gets ‘em. Speaking of…”

 

Shane paused and made a gesture as if to urge the man to speak. The man perked up, like he’d forgotten the whole reason he’d come here in the first place.

 

“Oh! Right! Okay, well--”

 

“Hang on,” Shane interrupted, looking about him, “Do you happen to have the time?”

  
“Its, uh, three in the morning?” the man said, glancing up at the night sky, “They said this was when the, you know, the veil was weakest… whatever that means.”

  
“No clue,” Shane admitted, “See now, er…”

 

“Ryan.” the man said firmly, “Ryan Bergara.”  


“Ryan Bergara,” Shane repeated. “I’ve been sleeping for a while. Do you know what date it is today?”

 

“The date?” Ryan echoed, uncertain, “August thirteenth, I think.”

 

“ _August_?” Shane echoed, confused, “No, that can’t be right. I died in December…”

 

“You died-- _what?_ ”

 

“Must have been asleep longer than I thought…” Shane muttered to himself,  hand touching his chin, “But, yeah, I’m definitely remembering right. December 1886. Me and the demon only made our deal a few weeks ago."

 

“It’s 2018, dude.”

 

Shane stopped dead in his tracks, meeting the man’s eyes. “Excuse me?”

 

“Its August thirteenth, 2018.” Ryan repeated.

 

Shane’s hand dropped to his side.  “That’s… no. Surely not. I’ve… I’ve only been guarding the road fora few weeks. I could've _swore--!_ "

 

“You said you were asleep, or something?” Ryan pressed helpfully, “Maybe you only woke up because I came here. Who was the last guy who came here?”

 

“Some blues musician. It doesn’t matter. It’s been two hundred _years_?!”

  
  
“Sounds like it,” Ryan told him, giving a little shrug, “Sorry, bro.”

 

Shane sat heavily on the dirt, mouth open. “Two _hundred_ years…”

 

Ryan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed, standing in that awkward way when someone was crying and you didn’t know what to do about it.

 

“I’m sorry, man…” he said, and he sounded earnest. “What’s gonna happen when I leave? Are you gonna, like...disappear, again?”

 

“Sort of...” Shane said, slowly, “It’s more like I fall asleep, really. I appear when I’m needed.”

 

“Damn... That's heavy," Ryan told him. Shane wasn't really surely what he meant by that, but he stared at him with such an honest pity that it made his stomach twist, as if he felt guilty for making this stranger feel bad. What kind of person feels sorry for a demon, anyway? He stared at the ground and didn't respond.

 

"Oh, hey, I have some whiskey here, do you want it? You sound like you need it more than me.”

 

Shane looked up, surprised. Ryan held out a small metal hip flash, a sincere look in his glimmering eyes that made Shane’s heart flip. Shane took it from him, stood up and twisted off the cap.

 

“That’s very kind of you. ‘Specially since I’m about to take your soul.” he added, and knocked back the contents of the flask.

 

“They told me spirits like alcohol,” Ryan told him, “I drank some on the way here, though.”

 

Shane licked his lips as he squinted in to the hip flask, trying to see if there was anything left, “You’re quite articulate for a drunkard,"

 

“I’m not a _drunkard_ . I’m fucking _nervous,_ man. And no one says drunkard anymore.”

 

“I wouldn’t _know_ , would I?” Shane muttered, his voice thick from the drink that burned the back of his throat. “I’m keepin’ the flask.”

 

“That’s fair.”

 

“Now, then… let’s get on with this deal.”

 

Ryan nodded stiffly.

 

“So, what is it you want, Ryan Bergara?” Shane asked, “Money? Love? To be the best blues musician in the world?”

 

“Nothing like that,” Ryan admitted, “It’s… personal.”

 

"I can't make a deal 'less you tell me."

 

And so Ryan told him. The answer made Shane pause

 

“Interesting…” Shane mused, “And for this, you’re willing to trade your immortal soul?”

 

“About that…” Ryan said, slowly,  “why don't we work out something else?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The world is so different now. Why don’t I take you to see it?”

  
  
“You...” Shane scoffed, dumbfounded, "You want me to see the world with you?"

 

“You got anything better to do around _here_?” Ryan asked, looking around, “No offence, but it seems boring as hell. And if you don’t like it what there is to see, uh, you can take my soul in the end. That sounds fair, right?”

 

“How much of my whiskey did you drink on the way here? You can’t just do that. I have to take your soul. That’s all I can do.”

 

“Says who?”

 

Shane paused. He didn’t really have an answer for that.

 

“I can’t just... _leave_ ,” Shane said quietly, mostly to himself.

 

“If it’s part of our deal, why _not_ ? Come _on_ , man. Who's gonna know? This’ll be good for _both_ of us! I’ll still be able to go to church in good conscience and you’ll get to see a world where people aren’t dying of dysentery left right and center!”

 

“And how will you feel in the morning?" Shane asked seriously, "How will you feel when you’ve sobered up and realize you’ve got a crossroads demon attached to your hip for the rest of your life?”

 

“I dunno.” Ryan admitted, “That’s for sober Ryan to worry about, isn’t it?”

 

The demon burst in to laughter and when Ryan grinned in triumph, warm and bright like a ray of sunshine, Shane’s heart flipped again.

 

“You know what, Ryan? You’ve convinced me.”

 

Shane held out his hand, and Ryan took it in a firm handshake.

 

“It’s a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if I missed any spelling mistakes! I hope you liked this fic anyway!


End file.
